


Can't Speak French

by gods_and_monsters



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, whoops feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gods_and_monsters/pseuds/gods_and_monsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt thought he had his life figured out - and then he graduated college and found himself the new ward of his fifteen-year old cousin. To deal with all the new changes, he'll need the support of each and every one of his friends, including the snarky, sometimes-prickly Jean Kirstein, who is also working through issues of his own. With both of their lives rapidly shifting directions, each of the young men will have to find some sort of anchor and decide whether they'll sink or swim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Speak French

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So after reading 12932384 million fics, I decided to try one of my own. :) Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are all welcome - I apologize in advance for any mistakes or any wonky characterizations that occur. Anyways, enjoy!

Dark eyes scanned the sheet of paper on the desk, trembling fingers reaching for the pen that he would sign the paper with. It was almost funny, really, how one piece of paper could mean so much – how, despite all the clauses, fine print, and legal jargon they could cram into the document, it was only his signature that mattered. Taking a deep breath, the young man picked up the pen in front of him and reached out, beginning to trace the letters of his name onto the page.

Marco Bodt.

“And it’s done,” the social worker sitting across from him said. She hadn’t said much during the meeting, and Marco wondered if she felt anything about what had just happened. He sure did, after all. Marco licked his lips and dared to lean forward slightly, trying to hide the tremble in his fingers as he pushed the form back towards her. She had already been hard enough on him now; he didn’t want her to take it all back now if she thought he was weak.

“When do I get to see him?” Marco ventured. 

“In about a week or so, when he gets out of school. He’s currently staying at a friend’s.” The social worker was putting the paper in her bag now. “We’ll give you a call when we bring him in.”

“Oh.”

“…and we’ll be checking in regularly, of course. We need to make sure that this is a stable home.”

Marco wondered why she kept saying “we” when there was only one of her here. He didn’t say it, though, instead pursing his lips and nodding obediently. “Right.”

“That means,” she continued, “that you should probably find a job soon. You’ve graduated with your degree, but that doesn’t mean anything unless you find something to use it with.” 

Marco gulped. “Yeah, I’ve been looking through all the papers I can find, and there’s some postings online, and –“ 

“Like I said, we’ll be calling you soon.” The social worker interrupted him, and Marco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked at area of the floor where his scuffled, worn shoe met the carpet. 

“Okay.” 

“Have a good day then, Mr. Bodt,” she said mechanically before standing, brushing off the front of her coat with her hands, and marching purposefully towards the front door of the apartment. A moment later, Marco heard the door click behind her as she shut it, and he finally allowed himself to lean forward and exhale. Shoulders slumped, and he wondered what the hell he had just done. It was one thing to start your life after college, but it was another entirely to start your life plus one. 

Marco was used to being independent ever since his own parents had passed away since he was small. He had lived with his grandmother, his only other relatives being a set of distant (both geographically and by blood) aunt and uncle on his mother’s side. When it was time to go to college, though, he had left her to go to the local college – Trost University – and they still exchanged cards and weekly phone calls, but they had both known Marco needed to discover himself at that point. And discover himself he did; Marco had always loved to read for pleasure and even found English classes in high school mostly agreeable. At Trost University, though, Marco had been thrilled to discover that he could not only read for fun, but for grades. It had all been a downhill (or uphill, as he preferred to think of it) spiral from there, and he hadn’t thought the dream would end until it actually did the past week, and he had found himself walking for the second time in his life.

They hadn’t even given him a real diploma as he graduated. When Marco looked inside the ceremonial binder they had given him, it held only a piece of paper with the words “Your diploma will be mailed to you in 10-12 weeks” written on it. 

There was also the fact that with every positive reaction in the universe came a negative one. In this case, it was a car accident – not concerning Marco or anyone he was familiar with, but his distant aunt and uncle. Apparently they had collided with a texting driver the day after Marco graduated. It was tragic in a sense you might shake your head at a newspaper article, but the reality hadn’t hit Marco until a telephone call that night came. 

“Mr. Bodt? We’d like to talk to you about Brian…” 

Brian had been their teenage son. Brian Westerholt, he reminded himself. Marco had met him once or twice, years ago when they were both too young to really care about the other and too far apart in age to bother trying. Now, though, with no other home for Brian after his parents had died, Marco was the only viable option. His grandmother was too old to take on another person, let alone a teenage boy (the thought made Marco wince), and foster home seemed like a cruel and dismissive notion. 

The social workers on the phone had told Marco that he was a good option because of his college degree, and his (presumably) soon to be employed status. Guilt had lingered strongly in his stomach then, and even if it was for no real reason, Marco remembered blurting out yes as soon as they had given him the option. Still, everything even then had seemed distant, the voices and ideas all communicated over the phone. Today’s visit had been the first time an actual person had come to speak to him, and she had seemed…well, Marco didn’t like to be mean, but if he was being honest, his first impression was that she was pretty damn scary. 

Marco looked up. The apartment was empty now, and quiet as well. He supposed it wouldn’t be this way for long now. Contrary to everyone else he knew (with the lone exception of Armin), Marco kept a clean, tidy living space: there was little clutter, and everything and anything had its place. He had his life organized in a quiet way, one that others maybe didn’t understand but respected (even Jean, most of the time). It was all going to change soon, he imagined.

Images of pizza boxes and soda cans everywhere suddenly flashed into Marco’s mind. His mouth tilted downwards: shoes and lone socks everywhere, dirty dishes piling from the sink and the fridge filled with food that wasn’t dated and marked. 

A sudden weariness came over Marco, as if he had just experienced the horrors of ten lifetimes in thirty seconds. Eyes wide, he dragged himself over to the couch, which sat in front of the television, and turned it on. Marco searched for his favorite channel, the one that always seemed to calm him down and ground him even in the most dire and hopeless of times: HGTV. Bringing his knees up to his chest as he settled back, the sounds of the program began to fill the apartment: Clean House. He liked that show. He knew some people that could use a house cleaning (ie: Jean, Sasha, probably Connie) for sure. Settling back, he tried to forget the terrible images of trash and clutter and food every –

Food!

Marco sat up suddenly, glancing back at the fridge. Inside were labelled containers and bags of things like vegetables, fruits, healthy and carb-lite snacks, meals, all already portioned: pouches of carrots, already sliced cucumbers, broccoli, cauliflower (stuffed between this and the broccoli were a few chocolate cupcakes, his secret indulgence), hummus, whole wheat bread, organic eggs, and so on.

In short, absolutely nothing a teenage boy would readily eat.

Oh no! What do teenage boys eat? He tried to think back to his own teenage years. His grandmother had fed him good, wholesome food for every meal. She hadn’t been as health-conscious as he, and there was sometimes a good deal of butter in her cooking, but Marco never begrudged her for it. Still, he wasn’t able to sit down for hours and hours to prepare for and cook meals like she did (well, not if he found a job soon). Marco’s heart fluttered in panic as he tried to think more, but came up with absolutely nothing. 

Okay, so he didn’t know. He had to ask someone. Armin knew everything there was to know inside a book, but Marco wasn’t sure of his knowledge of the real world sometimes. Eren or Mikasa might know, but they had gone to a different college hours away, and he didn’t know what they were doing now. Jean was – 

Hey, Jean would know! He’s practically a teenage boy still. 

Marco pulled his old flip-phone from his pocket and bit his lip nervously, quickly going through the list of contacts and pulling up his friend’s name. 

Hi! Whatcha doing? :) Marco pulled up the message and sent it, now nervous and unable to focus completely on the television show. They were having a garage sale now, getting rid of all the clutter in their home to make room for improvements. 

Marco had no clutter in his life, no messy regrets or complications. 

His phone vibrated a moment later, indicating his friend had indeed gotten the message and replied to it: nothin, just @ work. Really boring rn – u wanna come hang out?

Satisfied his friend was indeed available, Marco quickly typed out his reply:

Maybe later. :) I’m running some important business – I just sent in all the paperwork for my cousin. 

A moment later, from Jean: o cool! Did u need help w/ anything?

Actually, yes. I need some help with…food.

like…getting some? Do u need some money?

Marco sighed. This felt like an embarrassing question to ask, but he had no real precedence for it. No, I just don’t know what to get. I don’t think Brian will like any of the food I have.

o yeah, u have all that healthy shit. his name is brian?

Yeah.

just come over here. my friend, we need to get u thru junk food 101. sasha and connie have already agreed 2 help.

Marco smiled. Jean’s nonchalance about everything often made him smile – as did the fact Sasha and Connie were going to be there – he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of them earlier. If Sasha was the number one biggest consumer of junk food he knew, Marco’d be a monkey’s uncle. Connie was just as bad, if not because of the fact that although he didn’t eat nearly as possible that he was the biggest enabler Marco knew. It was because of him that Sasha consumed her body weight in potato chips weekly.

Still, they were good people. And between Jean, Sasha, and Connie, Marco could think of no better people to begin his junk food odyssey with. Quickly, he remembered to text back to Jean that he’d meet them at the coffee shop that the three of them worked at soon before grabbing his coat and heading to the apartment door. Before he left, he couldn’t stop himself from pausing and looking back – between his own graduation and the news about his cousin Brian, Marco couldn’t help thinking that things would never be quite the same again. He only hoped that it wouldn’t be in a bad way before he closed the door, fingers tingling with a sort of nervous trepidation. 

 

Jean Kirstein put the phone down on the counter and looked around the coffee shop. Sometimes he wondered about the wisdom of putting three employees on shift during what seemed like the deadest afternoon of the week (Thursday), but he wasn’t going to complain when he: 1) was still being paid, and 2) when he got to talk, gossip, and hang out with Sasha and Connie. Sure, they were kind of loud and obnoxious – traits Jean had found annoying at first – but they were the only people who could manage to make Thursday afternoons at the coffee shop they worked at (Jean refused to call it by its real name: Titan Jolt) interesting.

“Okay, so now…I spy! Let’s go!” That was Sasha speaking. Jean could tell by the exuberance in her voice – she always sounded like she was very passionate about what she was speaking about. 

“Ugh, but there’s only so many things you can spy!” Connie, the eternal pessimist. Jean smirked as he could practically hear the pout in Connie’s voice before he went on. “Okay, fine...I spy something…green.”

“But there’s so many green things!” Sasha whined. 

Jean rolled his eyes and walked away from the register and towards the pair who were sitting at the other end of the counter. 

“Dorks,” he announced, “There’s a situation.”

“Awww,” Connie said, voice rising it pitch as he joined Sasha in whining. “But we’re working!”

“Then technically, you’re supposed to be in the back,” Jean said.

“Well, that’s only cause you’re the best cashier, and Sasha’s not allowed in the back anymore!”

“Hey!” Sasha intervened, “That was an injustice! No one ever actually caught me st-“

“You were the only one working in the back when those dozen muffins went missing!” Connie turned to Sasha.

“Hey! All I’m saying is that whoever ate those must’ve been really hungry! Like not eaten all morning hungry!”

“…five days in a row?”

Jean decided it was time for them to stop, and trying to hide the smirk that wouldn’t quite go away, he stepped closer. “Guys! This is a serious issue. Marco’s coming over now! And he needs junk food.”

Sasha gasped. Connie turned, eyes wide. “What happened to him? Has he finally snapped?”

“No, it’s that whole thing with his cousin.” Jean shrugged. “Guess the kid’s finally coming to live with him.”

“How old is the kid again?” Sasha asked.

“Fifteen.”

Connie groaned. “He’s going to steamroll Marco so bad, man.”

Jean’s mouth turned less harsh. He thought of his friend Marco – all the years he had known him (since they were small children, pretty much), Marco had rarely shown weakness. He had been through some stuff, and just because people underestimated his friend didn’t mean that he did. Jean knew better. For a moment, the image of Marco’s bright, smiling face shone in his mind before fading, being willed away so he could focus on everything else at hand.

“Not,” he began, “not if we help him. He’s coming over in a bit, and we have to give him the crash course on junk food, stat. He’s gotta stock up.”

Sasha’s flabbergasted expression turned to one of excitement, and even Connie looked less nervous. Sasha was the first to speak, her hair bouncing as she talked. “Don’t worry, he couldn’t have come to anyone better.”

Jean nodded. Even if it was over something so trivial as junk food, he couldn’t help but be oddly grateful for his friends’ presence. 

“…but while we wait, another game! Wed, bed, behead!” Sasha said excitedly. Connie, for once, grinned and nodded in agreement. Jean saw that their enthusiasm for Throne of Games still hadn’t abated. 

“You first, Jean!” Sasha pointed a finger at him. Jean sighed – there was no getting out of the games vortex once it had been entered, and he’d have to wait until it was Connie’s turn to slip away. 

“Okay, fine.”

“Hmm…” Sasha thought. Connie looked up abruptly, a wicked grin. 

“Eren…”

“Armin!” Even Sasha looked devious now.

“…and Marco!”

Jean gave his friends the look they referred to as the “bitchface.” “Ah, well…kill Eren. That’s no question.” He paused to think deeply, eyes wandering up to the ceiling of the coffee shop. “I…bed Armin? You know what they say about quiet in the streets and all that, and…marry Marco, I guess.” Jean’s voice faded out, a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dammit, he shouldn’t have drank that large latte earlier.

Connie and Sasha exchanged some unreadable look. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” they said at the same time, shrugging in some telepathically-coordinated effort that would’ve made the children of the corn proud. “It’s just…marry Marco?”  
Jean felt a slight blush creep on his face. “Well, marrying Armin would’ve been like marrying your little brother, and – “

“So you’d rather sleep with him?” Connie asked.

“No, it’s just – I mean, have you seen his DVR? It’s full of Clean House and Trading Spaces; the guy’s probably going to have the neatest place ever, and one day, when we realize that all the chemicals in the junk food are going to kill us, he’s probably going to be the only one left standing, and – “

Sasha cut him off with a shake of her head. “Look, if we’re going to get Marco stocked up, we need to begin now. Connie, you’re in charge of the frozen foods list – Jean, you’ll take the sweets, and I’ll take care of the bagged snacks.”

She looked oddly pensive for someone who had been known to drool at the mere mention of potato chips. Jean raised an eyebrow at her, to which she merely shrugged.  
“Now!” she announced. “Let’s get on it. This boy needs our help, and in the matters of junk food, we have to help.” 

Not knowing what else to say, Jean merely shrugged and meandered back to the register, pulling out a pad of paper and pen from under the counter and beginning to think, his mind not entirely on the sweets after all. 

As it happened, not fifteen minutes later, Marco wandered in. Jean was still lost in thought, and Sasha and Connie had been arguing over the merits of canned potato chips versus bagged ones before, moments earlier, Connie had the genius idea of suggesting both. 

“Hey,” Marco said shyly as he approached the counter. He was wearing a dark red sweater and jeans, looking very classy even in casual clothing. Then again, the look fit him, Jean mused, with his tanned skin, neatly arranged dark hair, and his clean-shaven face. He had to be a sharp contrast to Jean, who’s two-toned hair was disheveled by now, in addition to his now-wrinkled shirt, of which one sleeve was rolled higher than the other and several buttons were undone. The only nice thing about him was the apron, or the Titan Jolt uniform, which still managed to be somewhat disconcerting in that it had what looked like an overgrown baby aggressively drinking a cup of coffee.

Their boss Hanji called it adorable. Everyone else agreed it was creepy. 

Jean tried to return Marco’s hesitant smile with a grin of his own. “And what can I get for you, fine sir?” he joked. 

“I’ll have…one of everything, if it’s not too much trouble,” Marco joked, in that quiet, adorable way he sometimes did. 

“Alright, sure, and your total will be…let’s just say two hundred bucks and call it even, yeah?” 

Marco laughed softly. The smile faded slightly, though, and Jean found himself looking at a vaguely distressed Marco. Which, knowing Marco’s propensity towards being calm and happy all the time, meant that he was actually very distressed.

“Okay, so I called the junk food squad together, and – “

“Marco!” Sasha interrupted him as she vaulted over the counter and went to give the dark-haired boy a hug. Connie nodded warmly towards Marco, to which the boy smiled weakly.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” Sasha said, clinging onto Marco as if he would disappear. “You’re always talking to Jean, but we haven’t seen you in…it’s weeks, isn’t it, Connie!”  
“Lay off him, Sasha…he’s been busy finishing school.” Connie said.

“I’m still mad you didn’t let us throw you an awesome graduation party…or actually go so we could see you.” Sasha wasn’t actually mad, though. Jean knew that Marco knew as well, even if he looked distantly uncomfortable. 

“I just…I had some important phone calls to keep,” Marco said, to which Sasha nodded as he backed away. 

“It’s okay, because we’re going to set you up with the junk food set up of the century,” she continued.

“You’ll have cookies!” Jean said excitedly.

“Chips!” Sasha added.

“Soda!” Connie nodded.

If Marco looked uncomfortable before, he looked terrified know, as if the mere thought of that much greasy food in his home would give him a coronary. Jean didn’t doubt it might. 

“Hey, at least your new, uh…What is he, anyway? I mean, to you?”

“They said he’d be my ward,” Marco said, biting his lower lip.

“Ah, ward then,” Jean continued. “I bet he’ll like it. Is everything all set up?”

“Yeah, it’s just…it’s been crazy, you know?”

Jean nodded, and then reached across the counter to pat Marco’s shoulder. “It’s alright dude, we get it. And besides, you’re free now, right?”

“Yeah. Well, until next week.”

Connie and Sasha looked at each other, sly smiles on their faces. Hoping Marco didn’t notice, Jean continued. “Okay, anyway, we got together this hella awesome list, and we were going to give it to you, but now that you’re actually here, maybe one of us should go with you? I mean, you know, to make sure you don’t actually end up buying salads, y’know?”

Connie quickly popped in. “I need to close.”

And then Sasha, “And I need to make sure the leftovers are properly put away. And help Connie.” 

They then both looked pointedly at Jean, who felt his ears burn for a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Ah, well…I’ll hang up earlier. Just don’t tell Hanji.”

“As if she would actually do anything!” Connie snorted. “She loves you! Oh, and Marco, here’s the lists – on second thought, you take them, Jean. See if there’s anything we missed.” 

Jean doubted that Sasha and Connie had missed anything, but he took the scraps of paper regardless, nodding to them before taking off his apron and going into the back to hang it up. Moments later, he emerged, hands engaged in a hurried and futile attempt to fix his hair as he nodded at Marco. 

“Alright, Mr. Marco. You ready?” 

The other nodded. 

“See you tomorrow, Sasha,” Jean said, “And Saturday, Connie.”

The pair nodded and said their goodbyes, and just like that, Jean and Marco were out the door. Jean exhaled, happy to breathe the late afternoon air that was thankfully coffee-free. Marco, however, seemed less than forthcoming, even after he had read the makeshift shopping list. Maybe that’s what had shocked him into silence, Jean thought to himself. After all, the foods on the list had a calorie count that would put a football team’s diet to shame. 

“You alright?” He said after a moment, glancing over and focusing. The sun made his eyes squint slightly. “I mean, you’ve been pretty quiet for you.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. Did you want to talk, Jean?” Marco returned the look, a pleasant smile on his face. 

“Not if you didn’t want to, but you just seem…look, I bet this is all a lot, but isn’t it mostly good? I mean, you’re graduated. Even if it comes with a brat on the side, that’s still a hell of a lot to be proud of.”

“I know,” Marco replied. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. Jean knew he didn’t normally mope, which meant things were even worse than previously thought. 

“When you introduce yourself now, you can do it as Dr. Marco, M.D.!”

This drew another smile from the dark-haired boy, which made Jean’s own bigger. 

“Well, first, it’s an education degree. And second, I want to be a counselor, not a doctor.” This time, Marco sounded a little happier. Jean decided to jump on it.

“See? That’s pretty goddamn cool. I mean, compared to the rest of us, still baristas in there.”

Well, for most of them. Sasha and Connie were actually part-time, still being students for their own degrees. Jean was the only one not in college, Titan Jolt’s only full-time employee other than the owner Hanji. 

“I guess so. Listen, I’m sorry, Jean, I’m just…tired. It’s been a long month.”

Jean quickly reached over to throw an arm over Marco’s shoulder and give him a quick bro-hug. “I know. And don’t be sorry – I’m the one that should be sorry. I’ve been a pretty crappy friend. I should’ve been around more, y’know? But you know you don’t have to worry about all that stuff when you’re with us, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Normally, Jean wasn’t much for that sappy sort of talk. He frowned upon it with almost everyone else. With Marco, though, it was easy and genuine. Jean meant everything he said to his friend.

“Friends forever, right?” Marco was smiling as he said it, but judging by his tone, Jean could tell his voice was about to crack. 

“Absolutely. Friends forever, and then some,” Jean echoed, remembering how they used to say those words when they were eight-year olds playing on the swingset and seesaw.

“Good.” Marco seemed to lean in for a moment into Jean’s arms, and, because he was that much of a great friend, Jean let it slide for a moment. And then, according to the rules of bro-code, he withdrew his arm, even doing it made him frown for a split second. 

“Aaand we arrive at our destination. The common grocery store,” Jean announced, looking up at the chain supermarket they’d arrived at. He looked over at Marco, who was looking, wide-eyed, at the sign. “You ready to corrupt your kitchen?”

“No,” Marco whispered, and he began to step inside regardless. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll love it. And maybe you will, too. I swear to god, one bag of chips every once in a while won’t hurt that beach-ready body of yours,” Jean said, a twinkle in his eye. “Let’s go!”


End file.
